Had To Be You (2 page)

“Do you think he’s hoping for a boy?”

“Actually, no,” Jill replied. “He’d be happy either way. He’s into it, reading all these books and even buying things for the baby when he’s on the road.” She took a sip of her juice and soda water. “But if it turns out to be a girl? Let’s just hope she gets all his pretty.”

Rory grinned in amusement. She had to admit she had her doubts about Trevor when Jill first got involved with him back in college, finding him to be a bit
too
good-looking and far too pleased with himself. But it was clear now that Jill was the only woman in the world for him, as she was once very familiar with all the signs.

“It must be hard for him to be away right now, with as much as he travels for work,” she offered.

“It is. That’s actually why I plan to spend my maternity leave at home, at my mom’s. It will be just as easy for him to come there, if he’s traveling. And he loves the beach. At least we timed the vacation part well, for the summer.”

Rory employed some restraint in her sarcasm. “Really? You think this is going to be comparable to a vacation?
Really
, Jill?”

“You know, I see your lips moving,” she said, shaking her long blond curls in denial. “But all I hear is la-la-la.”

Laughing, Rory quickly tucked some nagging regrets away in the back of her mind. It had been a long time since she herself visited home. Over the holidays this year she’d opted to go away skiing with Jonathan instead.

“I wish we could go for Memorial Day weekend,” Jill continued. “We always did when we were in Boston, but this year it turns out his parents are coming to stay with us because they’ve never been to New York. So, instead of relaxing and kicking back, I’ll be eight months pregnant and traipsing all over the city to go sightseeing with millions of tourists.” The tone of her voice went flat and dull. “As you can see, I can hardly contain my joy.”

Rory only smiled in vague amusement, still preoccupied with her thoughts of a certain little seaside town. It was a bit like breaking a protected seal, and she never knew what might slip out if she wasn’t careful. Then her cell phone beckoned once again, redirecting her attention.

“It’s a text from my friend Sarah,” she explained once she had it in hand. “She’s going to try an online dating service and wants some feedback on her profile.”

“Let’s hear it.”

Rory took a deep breath.

“Bitter, disillusioned twenty-something female still carrying the emotional and physical baggage of a failed relationship with ex-boyfriend, not to mention an extra ten—okay, twelve—pounds, seeks kind, decent, honest and reliable man, if such a thing still exists in this city cesspool of lazy, self-absorbed, unfaithful, two-timing, miserable lying bastards.”

“Wouldn’t both
two-timing
and
unfaithful
be kind of redundant?”

“Yeah, you’re right. And she probably has to pay per word, so…” She quickly tapped out a reply.

“How have you been?” Jill’s voice softened as she tilted her head to appraise her. “I feel like I haven’t talked to you in weeks.”

“I know. Sorry about that.” Rory placed her phone aside. “My life’s been even more crazy than usual. I’ve had tons of meetings lately, been working nights, weekends, museum charity events, fashion events, you name it.”

“How is the PR business these days?”

“Still spinning away,” she said. “And since Jonathan’s place is right downtown, I’ve actually been crashing there most nights, living out of my bag. Otherwise, we’d probably never see each other.”

“Which means you haven’t been home to your apartment?” Jill watched her carefully. “Not even to get your mail?”

“No, Sarah has been getting my mail for me,” Rory explained, narrowing her eyes. “Why? What is it?”

“Oh, nothing.” She attempted to shrug it off, playing with the straw in her drink before a small sigh slipped out. “It’s just—well, it’s just that I got my invitation this week.”

“Your invitation to what?”

Jill hesitantly lifted her gaze.

“The wedding.”

Rory only frowned, perplexed. “What wed—”

And then her heart stopped.

She leaned forward slightly in her seat to stare in near disbelief. “You mean
Matt’s
wedding?”

Jill only nodded.

Slowly, Rory sat back, the blood rushing through her ears, pounding through her chest, all those aortic chambers pumping in frantic overdrive to make up for the unsettling halt.
It couldn’t be
.

“When is it?”

“June 16
^th
.”

“
This
June?” she gasped in dismay, but quickly covered with a harsh, empty laugh. “What’s the rush? Did he knock her up or something?”

Jill only arched an eyebrow in warning.

“Sorry,” Rory said, instantly contrite. “I didn’t mean that like it sounded.”

Jill shifted in her seat, and then rested her hand on her small bubble of a belly.

“They’ve been engaged for months, Rory. I mean, you had to know this day was coming, right?”

“Yeah, of course,” she quickly replied, reassembling her broken pieces and trying to shove everything back down into place as she reached for her drink. “So, Matt O’Shea is the first of us to get married. Who would’ve figured, huh?”

Jill only watched her from across the table without comment, and Rory promptly downed what was left of her margarita.

***

Slumped against the mahogany-paneled wall of the elevator car, arms folded, she stared in silence at the patterns on the carpet floor.

“
Miss
? I believe this may be your floor,” said the elderly woman next to her, rousing her from her thoughts.

“Oh.” She glanced out to see the familiar gray-and-cream hallway and the shiny-leafed potted palm. “I guess it is.” She thanked the woman and stepped off just before the elevator door slid shut.

Hesitating at the second door on the left, she lifted her hand to knock. It opened, and Jonathan waved her in as he spoke animatedly into his cell phone.

Tall and lean, he wore a black t-shirt with slim dark jeans, his chestnut hair cut in perfect, short razor layers. He was one of the most talented and innovative playwrights to hit the New York stage in the last five years, and her job demanded that she always have an interest in the newest, hottest young thing on the scene. As it turned out, he returned that interest—only a little more behind-the-scenes.

Wandering into the kitchen area of the spacious apartment, she dumped her bag on one of the slim modern barstools that surrounded the island countertop. Jonathan finally said his goodbyes and walked up behind her. Placing his phone down on the counter, he rested his hand on her waist and leaned down for a kiss. She offered her cheek.

“I ordered some food from that place down the street,” he said. “It should be here any minute, if you’re hungry.”

“No, thanks anyway,” Rory said, smiling absently as she rubbed her arms.

The apartment had an open floor plan, with hints of expensive designer touches blended into a sleek urban loft space. All around, floor-to-ceiling windows looked out over the cement-and-steel structures of the city skyline. Rory always imagined she felt a draft even though the windows were sealed shut. Of course, that might be because she was more used to the cozy, cramped clutter of her shoebox-sized apartment, furnished in the early contemporary design of IKEA.

“Did you get dinner with your friend?”

“We picked at some appetizers.”

“Well, that was just one of my producers on the phone. He was telling me about some great spa resort in the Berkshires, less than an hour away from the theatre. I’ve actually been wishing I could take some time off and recharge my batteries.” He smiled, resting his hands on her shoulders. “How amazing would that be? Spend a long summer weekend in the country, go hiking, soak in a hot tub, or never leave the privacy of our own luxury suite. You’re from Massachusetts. Have you ever been?”

Rory shook her head. It was true she was from Massachusetts, but one of the easternmost points of the state, with the vivid blue ocean instead of rolling green hills as her backyard.

“So let’s go.”

“Hmm…” she said with a small, uncertain smile. “Well, of course it sounds nice, but my schedule isn’t quite as flexible as yours.”

“You
do
get such a thing as vacation time—don’t you?”

Her head was beginning to throb slightly with the flow of leftover tequila, and she lifted her hand to rub at her temple.

“I suppose.”

“Are you okay?”

“Yeah…just getting a headache, I think.”

“Are you sure you aren’t coming down with something?” He took a step back. “Because you know I can’t afford to get sick right now.”

She lifted her long hair from the nape of her neck. Now she was feeling something else; a creeping sense of claustrophobia setting her on edge.

“There’s aspirin in the medicine cabinet if you need it,” he offered, frowning in concern.

She nodded in acknowledgement, but rather than head down the hall to the bathroom, she turned towards his bedroom. Her large canvas-and-leather tote still sat on his dresser, full of temporary things. She grabbed it and came back out to the living room.

“You know what? I think I’m just going to go.”

“Really?”

“Yeah, I’m tired. It’s been a long week. I can’t even remember the last time I slept in my own bed.” She tried to justify. “All I really want to do is just curl up under the covers, you know?”

“And you can’t do that here?”

“You steal all the covers, remember?”

“All right, I guess.” He sighed dubiously, and then reached out to pull her closer. “But we’re okay?”

“Of course,” Rory assured him before stepping lightly out of his arms and heading towards the door. “I’ll just talk to you tomorrow.”

“Okay, tomorrow then,” Jonathan called after her.

***

It was only after she changed out of her work clothes and into boxers and an old baseball jersey, hair pulled off her face in a high ponytail and cheeks scrubbed clean, that Rory could even think about her mail.

The envelopes were all piled atop the old pinewood chest that served as a bench in her apartment’s front hallway. As promised, Sarah had been emptying it from her box downstairs and delivering it here. For a long moment, Rory could only regard it all with a baleful stare.

Now she was ready. Or almost ready, that is.

Carrying it all with her to the kitchen counter, Rory first poured a big glass of wine. Then, with that securely in hand, she began the daunting task of sorting through.

Bill, sales flyer, magazine, bill, takeout menu, appointment reminder, credit card offer, bill, bill—
oh, no
.

Hiding behind a long gulp, Rory eyed the corner of the offending cream-colored envelope jutting from the pile. Then, in gradual increments, she slid it out, grabbed the entire bottle of wine, and wandered out to the tiny living room area. Curling up on the edge of the short sofa, she placed the wine on the floor and tucked her feet up.

Her own name looked strange to her eyes, foreign somehow, in the fanciful, chocolate brown calligraphy script. Maybe it wasn’t even her name. Maybe Sarah inadvertently picked up someone else’s mail. Perhaps this was all just a big mistake.

Rory grabbed her phone, never without it in close proximity. Sarah had been her upstairs neighbor for the past year, moving to New York right after college just as Rory had done. Finding themselves both in the same position, facing a brand new life in the big city, they’d formed a quick bond.

She was relieved to hear her answer on the second ring.

“Hey. It’s me.”

“Hello, stranger!” Sarah’s proper British accent lilted up in happy surprise. “How’ve you been?”

“Right now?” Rory narrowed her eyes in consideration. “I’m feeling a little bit like yesterday’s crap, served-up cold.”

“
Graphic, to the point, I like it,”
Sarah replied without missing a beat
.
“You want to feel better? I’m currently watching my DVDs of ER whilst eating a half a tube of chocolate chip cookie dough straight from the plastic wrapper.”

“That’s not so bad.”

“
Ten minutes ago this tube of cookie dough was lying in my kitchen trash barrel.”

Rory grimaced. “Okay, you might have me there.”

“
Mm-hmm. So, I’m sitting here right now watching Doug Ross valiantly attempt to convince Carol Hathaway that he’s changed and therefore now worthy of her affection. I mean, she has George Clooney—George bloody Clooney, no less—bending over backwards because she makes him want to be a better man. I couldn’t inspire my two-timing ex-boyfriend to even want to be merely adequate
.
”

“First of all,” Rory pointed out, the phone balanced in the crook of her neck as she held the envelope up to the lamp as if it might reveal some secret code. “I’m well aware of your ongoing education in American serialized television, all that relevant pop culture you missed in your formative years, but I think you may be starting to mistake it for real life.”

“Oh, how could it possibly get any realer than
Real Housewives
, I ask!”

“Second of all,” she continued, “Philip never deserved you when you were with him, so he certainly doesn’t deserve your time or thoughts now.”

“
I suppose,” Sarah conceded. “So, not staying at Jonathan’s tonight?”

“No, I feel like I’ve been living out of my bag too long. It’s more convenient to work, and his place is probably four times the size of mine, but it gets kind of close there, you know?”

“Uh-oh.”

Rory hesitated, and her frown deepened. “What?”

“You tell me. Feeling a bit crowded, like those walls are closing in? You have to admit, these are some classic signs.”

“Signs of what?”

“That you might be getting ready to bolt.”

“That’s not true. I’m very happy with Jonathan.”

If that were really true, however, Rory suspected the contents of this envelope wouldn’t matter quite this much.